


another knife in my hands (a stain that never comes off the sheets)

by sourcheeks



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Country Boy Will Graham, Hunters & Hunting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourcheeks/pseuds/sourcheeks
Summary: The man was struggling with something, hunched over and grunting softly. Maybe he was hurt. “Hey, mister!” Will called. “You alright?”The man turned around.He had a dead body in his arms.The last thing Will remembered was throwing up.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

Will chased down Oddie through the underbrush, trying to keep as quiet as he could. The damn dog never did this. Whatever he was chasing down, Will didn’t want to alert it. 

The man was struggling with something, hunched over and grunting softly. Maybe he was hurt. “Hey, mister!” Will called. “You alright?”

The man turned around. 

He had a dead body in his arms. 

The last thing Will remembered was throwing up. 

“Are you alright, my friend?” The man had a strange accent. Will’s head was pounding. 

“You- you- you had a body…” 

“Are you feeling unwell?” The man frowned. “I’m simply out for a walk, and I happened upon you and your ah - very insistent dog.” The man chuckled. Oddie was nosing curiously at his lapels. 

“Oh. I thought - I must have a fever or somethin’.” The body was gone. Will was dizzy. A fever was an easier explanation for a stranger than psychosis. 

“Allow me to help you.” The man helped Will to his feet, Will clinging to his arm. “What’s your name?”

“Uh - Will. Will Graham.” Will took a few deep breaths, gratefully accepting the water bottle the hiker gave him. He bent down, picking up Oddie, who was still trying to snip at the man’s ankles. 

“I’m Doctor Hannibal Lecter.” The hiker patted the dog gently. 

“Oh… yeah. I’ve heard of you. I teach criminal psychology.” 

“Always nice to meet a fan.” The doctor chuckled. “Come with me, I’ll help you back to your vehicle. Are you alright to drive?”

“Yeah… yeah. I’ll be alright.” He nodded. “Thanks, Doctor.”

“Of course, Mister Graham, I’m happy to help.” Hannibal walked Will back to his truck, Will putting Oddie in the cab and climbing up into the driver’s seat. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” Will empathized. “I owe you.”

“No, no, it was only the right thing to do.” Doctor Lecter patted his hand. “Good luck, Mister Graham.”

Will took a minute to collect himself before he started up his truck, driving back home. He hadn’t bagged anything, but all things considered, he wasn’t interested in being out here any more. He could go hunting another day. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Professor Graham?”

Will looked up, surprised. “Doctor Lecter?” 

“I don’t mean to impose.” Lecter stepped inside. “I simply wanted to check up on you.”

“How did you… find where I worked?” Will frowned. 

“You gave me your full name and occupation and you work for a public institute,” Lecter reminded him. 

“Oh.” Will rose from his desk. “Well… I’m fine. Thank you for your concern, Doctor.” 

“Of course.” Lecter moved past him, inspecting the images on the projector. “Gruesome stuff,” he noted. 

“That’s Mark Twitchell’s kill room.” Will moved to stand beside him. “He was a Canadian would-be copycat serial killer.”

“Would-be?”

Will nodded. “Luckily, he was caught after only one murder and one attempted murder. His second victim got away.”

“He got sloppy.” It sounded almost like a judgement. "Who was he copying?"

"The TV show Dexter. It's about a serial killer who murders other killers. Twitchell had other ideas, though." Will shook his head disdainfully. "See, he was a filmmaker. Had this grand idea of being a tortured artist."

"All while he tortured others." Lecter frowned. "So many of these killers, they kill because they believe they are owed a body count. That they are something grand which the world at large has not yet recognized."

"Most of the time they're just real pieces of shit." Will grinned. "Excuse my language."

"You're excused, Professor." Lecter chuckled. "To what end are you teaching your students about Mark Twitchell?"

"We're discussing copycat killers. The phenomenon of violence, both real and fake, begetting violence, and how to determine the difference between a copycat and the real thing if the violence inspiring the copycat is real." Will began to sort through the papers on his desk. 

“Fascinating work. You have a strong stomach, Mister Graham.”

Will laughed a bit. “Not too strong, or I’d still be doing field work.” 

Lecter moved behind him. If Will didn’t know better, he would swear that Lecter  _ sniffed _ him. “You used to be a field detective, then, Mister Graham?”

“I, uh, consulted with the FBI for a very short period of time.” Will didn’t like talking about it. Brought up bad memories. “Never real field work, of course. They have, uh, very strict background checks. You can’t have any history of mental illness at all.”

Doctor Lecter was polite about not asking for his diagnosis. But Will knew he was going over symptoms in his head. Psychologists. Will couldn’t stand them. “You are suited here, I think. It is good to be able to give the gift of knowledge.”

“That it is. It’s why I teach.” Will knew he could stop. Thought of stopping often, when the descriptions got to him. He could move back down to Louisiana. Fix boat motors. But it was fine, here. He was happy. 

“A noble gesture.” Lecter leaned against one of the student desks, fingers templed in front of his face. “How old is your son, Mister Graham?”

Will laughed, surprised. “Um, I don’t have a son. Or a partner, I, uh, live alone. Just me and the dogs.” 

Lecter hummed. “I see.” He did not provide any reasoning for assuming Will was a father. “I should be going, Mister Graham. I hope that I will see you again soon.” 

Before Will could put voice to his innumerable questions, Doctor Lecter was gone. 


End file.
